


Midnight Ride

by whatsherquirk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Breeding, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Cowgirl Position, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intercrural Sex, Late 1800s, Misogyny, Murder, Mutual Pining, Pining, Praise Kink, Unwanted Advances, Virginity, Western, Western AU, Western Romance, by zeke becuause hes a human trash bag, discussions of virginity anyway, pretty minor violence but it happens, rancher jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsherquirk/pseuds/whatsherquirk
Summary: The wooden window frame creaks under your hand, and his head turns your way. The wind whips his long chestnut hair around his face as he catches your eye, lips parting slightly before you gasp and step aside, putting your back to the wall. All it takes is one look, and you know it: you’re infatuated, and you don’t even know his name yet.It’s a shame that by the end of the summer, you’ll belong to someone else.--Western AU: When hard times fall on your father's cattle farm, he hires three ranch hands to help him earn more money to pay off his gambling debts. When your hand in marriage is treated like another bargaining chip, you have to decide how far you'll go to be with the tall, handsome rancher who's captured your heart instead.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Original Female Character(s), Jean Kirstein/Reader, Jean Kirstein/You
Comments: 102
Kudos: 599





	Midnight Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally posted on my tumblr @whats-her-quirk as part of The Smut Pile server's Western collab. *Insert every horse face joke there ever was*

It’s windy outside today, occasional gusts blowing clouds of dirt into the air before it settles back onto the grass and the wildflowers that grow in the pasture on the other side of the corral. False sunflowers and milkweed bend at the stems before straightening again, reaching up toward the blazing late-spring sun. You watch them out the window, staring through the glass as your mama sits behind you, brushing and braiding your hair in a halo around your head. You sigh, impatient at the time it takes her to create the intricate crown that pulls at your scalp when you’d rather just twist it all to one side and be done with it.

She hums as her fingers cross and pull, and she explains the unfamiliar patterns so that you can pass them along to your own daughters someday. When she finally reaches the ends of your hair, she takes a ribbon and ties off the braid at the nape of your neck, tucking any flyaways under. “So pretty,” she muses, more to herself than you. “I wager any man would think the same.” Then she sighs. “Well, not _too_ pretty I hope. Your Pa should be back soon with the new ranch hands he hired. Hopefully they’re well-behaved. Wear one of your plain dresses.”

It’s precisely what you’ve been watching the hills past the pasture for, waiting for your first glimpse of the hired help that would be staying for at least the cattle breeding season, if not longer. It’s already mid-May, later than usual if Pa wanted his calves by February so they could be weaned and sold by next spring, but a lot is different this year on the ranch. The past year had been rough, between a harsh winter that killed nearly half the herd and the vices your papa fell to in order to deal with the hardship while mama remained silent about it all. After much scheming and scraping, however, Papa thought he had a foolproof plan to turn things around this year.

After purchasing as many heifers as he could, Papa quickly realized that calving would be more work than he’s able to handle on his own. Normally, there would be a few hands around to help, including yours, but Papa’s connections with the neighbors were severed after last year’s disaster (and the fact that he couldn’t pay back the debts he owed them until after this season). You’re an only child, your parents’ last after others had died in infancy and childhood, so you have no brothers to take up the job. With no other options left, Papa searched for weeks to find ranchers willing to help in the barn for what he’s able to pay. It’s less than any seasoned rancher would accept, but it was just enough, along with the promise of hot meals and a loft in the barn to sleep in, to finally draw in three younger men who were willing to learn the ropes.

You will not be permitted to work with the animals this year, despite the hard spot your family is in. It’s the final component of Pa’s plan: to marry you off to some rich man from the city, yet to be determined, to make up for any shortcomings at the end of the season. Though you never spent much time in town, Papa did, and he insisted that those gentlemen didn’t want a wife who wrangled cows and got their hands dirty. They wanted someone who knew how to run a homestead, raise children, and look beautiful, and you’d spend the summer learning it all in a hurry. There would be no time for you to work outside, he insisted, even going so far as to forbid you from riding your horse.

Slowly and then all at once, four figures appear, riding in a group through the pasture. You hold your breath as they approach, curious to no end about these mysterious young men. After all, you are a girl of nineteen, and you’ve been led to believe that they’re roughly your age; it’s only natural for you to wonder, even if you can’t admit as much to either of your parents. As the strangers approach along with your pa, Mama rushes to the front door to greet them while you remain at your bedroom window and watch.

The three of them tie up their horses at the hitching post, and as they approach the house, you get your first good look at them. They don’t resemble each other at all, clearly not brothers or even cousins, you’d guess. One is noticeably shorter than the others, with a wide smile and a close shorn haircut under his hat. The next is taller, darker, and brunette, with big green eyes and a face that would be pretty if he wasn’t scowling.

The last is the tallest of the three, bringing up the rear with an easy, confident stride. He’s broad chested but lanky, and a long, pointed chin juts from under the black hat pulled low over his eyes. When he takes it off, fanning himself with the brim as he’s introduced to your mama, you’re both surprised and not that the rest of his face is just as handsome. His eyes are narrow and his cheekbones high on his face, giving him the appearance of looking down over his nose even when he’s not.

The wooden window frame creaks under your hand, and his head turns your way. The wind whips his long chestnut hair around his face as he catches your eye, lips parting slightly before you gasp and step aside, putting your back to the wall. All it takes is one look, and you know it: you’re infatuated, and you don’t even know his name yet.

It’s a shame that by the end of the summer, you’ll belong to someone else.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It’s difficult not to sneak too many glances at him across the dinner table when you all sit down to eat together.

You spent the last hour in your room, fretting over your hair and dress or staring out the window while Papa showed the young men around the ranch and likely explained what tasks they’d be expected to carry out every day. It was hard to keep your imagination from going wild, wondering about the tall man who caught your eye. The spell was only broken when Mama knocked on the door. “Make yourself decent and come help with dinner.”

You tie your best apron over your dress, and when you step into the main room, the men are already seated around the table. It’s too small for six people, but you’ll make do for the night. After tonight, they’ll probably take most of their meals in the barn, but tonight is a special occasion.

Papa nods in your direction. “Fellas, this is my daughter.”

Your clasp your hands in front of you and offer them your name, feeling strange with the formality of it all. They may be practically strangers, but they’re also guests in your home. You might as well get to know them, at least a little.

The dark haired boy turns around in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees. “Eren,” he grunts: no more, no less.

The short one speaks up next. “Connie, ma’am, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He’s chipper and friendly, and you wonder if he could teach Eren a thing or two about manners. No one has ever called you ma’am before, but you suppose you’ll have to get used to it.

You turn to the last man, a slight but expectant smile on your lips. His eyes flick up to yours before dropping back down to the table, watching his pointer finger trace the grain of the wood. He clears his throat before speaking in a soft baritone, “Jean. Howdy, miss.”

Your heart flutters, content to have such a lovely name to put with his face. Then your papa speaks up. “And you best all treat her like a proper lady and nothing more, you hear? She’s spoken for.”

“Papa,” you scold. Not only is it embarrassing hearing him imply that any of these men might try to take advantage of you, but you’re not engaged, not yet. You know that, and he knows that, but these men don’t. _Jean doesn’t_ , and you hate for him to think so, even though you don’t have a good reason to. It’s as good as true, you suppose, but not yet. You still have a little time.

You chance another look at Jean as you cross the room, joining Mama to the stove where stew is bubbling in her biggest kettle. His eyes remain cast down, lips pressed into a hard line, and it stings like the prick of a thorn. You don’t allow your eyes to linger as Mama pulls you to her side over the kettle.

She gives you instructions quietly, showing you how she fixes a plate, ladling the stew alongside the cornbread. You carry the first to the table and set it down in front of Papa, who smiles proudly at you, his only daughter—pure as a mountain stream, a little housewife in training. You smile tightly back before returning for the other plates. You rush more than you should to be the one to serve Jean’s plate. He doesn’t look up at you when he mutters, “Thanks.”

You sit between your parents with your own dinner, chewing quietly and listening to the conversation without offering much in the way of opinion. This was one of the first lessons you’d had to learn: a woman should be silent until called upon, or so they said. Connie prattles the most, telling you how the three of them had grown up together before Eren cuts in to argue about how many miles they rode to get here. Town is about a few hour’s journey on horseback, but they’re from a place several miles on the other side of town, Eren says.

Jean doesn’t say much throughout the meal, but his lowered eyes mean that you can watch him, picking up on the subtleties of his face: his hollow cheeks, the sandy stubble on his chin, his bottom lip that’s slightly fuller than the top. You shouldn’t allow yourself to look at him like this, to pore over his features so indulgently, but you can’t help it. Considering that he doesn’t look back at you, you feel it’s safe to assume that he has no interest in some farmer’s daughter who’s as good as married, in his eyes anyway.

After dinner, you wash dishes with Mama as the farmhands retire to their loft in the barn and Papa sits in his rocking chair, looking very pleased. You return to your tiny bedroom after everything has been cleaned, where you undress and take down your hair, shaking out Mama’s hard work. It will be redone in the morning anyway. Before you fall asleep, your eyes wander out the window again. You discern the shadow of someone leaning against the barn, the tip of a lit cigarette glowing like a star against the midnight sky.

You roll away from the window and shut your eyes. The tall shadow can only belong to Jean, and you know if you watch him any longer, you’ll become too attached to something you can’t have, no matter how much you want it.

After lying for ages, waiting for sleep that never comes, you roll back over. Jean has disappeared, and the moon is hung higher in the sky, telling you it’s been at least a few hours. Flopping onto your back, you know you have two choices: you can toss and turn for the rest of the night, settling for a fitful bout of sleep, or you can get up and do something about this restless melancholy before it seeps any deeper into your tired bones. The answer is clear and obvious as the full moon outside the window.

You toss your feet over the side of your bed but move quietly to the trunk that holds your clothes. Since the stifling summer heat hasn’t quite set in yet, you switch your airy nightgown for a heavy cotton dress, one petticoat, and a shawl to wrap around your shoulders. As quietly as possible, you reach under your bed for the felt hat you keep there. It’s a man’s hat, stolen in return from a boy who stole a kiss from you behind a great pine tree at the foot of the mountain. The last things you grab are your worn brown boots, but you carry them in your hands to the front door.

In a practiced fashion, you set your boots on the porch outside the door while you pull a long piece of yarn from around the brim of your hat. Your method, carefully developed over the past several months, has never failed you yet. Nimbly, you loop the end of the yarn around the handle of the door latch—the one that can only be closed from the inside. Lifting as you go, you pull the door shut behind you before dropping the latch shut. You leave the free end of your string dangling outside, your only ticket in when you return.

After hastily lacing up your boots, you head to the stable, a smaller building that stands next to the cattle barn, and saddle up your beloved brown horse, Maria. She seems happy to see you, perhaps wondering where you’ve been the past few weeks since you last had the urge to ride in the middle of the night. You pet and shush her, doing your best to keep her quiet as you lead her out into the yard and past the corral. Once you feel like you’ve put enough distance behind you, you hitch up your skirts and throw your leg over her back, and with a little kick, she’s off and galloping through the pasture and toward the woods at the base of the mountain.

You can’t see it, but as the farm fades from view behind you, a figure sits at the window at the top of the barn, watching you disappear over the hill at the edge of the property, into the darkness.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You feign a headache in the morning when you’re too tired to get up and help Mama make breakfast. Instead, you bask in the extra hours in bed, catching up on the sleep you lost the night before. Besides, you’re not quite ready to face everyone, to face Jean, just yet. You snooze lightly until the sun is high in the sky, beaming in your window so brightly you’re not sure you could sleep even if you wanted to.

Your head feels clearer when you finally rise, rested and less heavy than the day before. You dress and tie your hair back—a simple low braid is more than enough to keep it out of your face. Knowing Mama expects it, you tie on your apron over your skirt before pausing by the window. You scan the horizon, the swaying grass and the cloudless sky, before you see it sitting there: a tiny purple flower—a prairie violet—sits delicately on the white painted wood on the other side of the glass pane. Your head tilts, enchanted and confused.

You almost reach out to touch it, not thinking about the barrier between you and the world outside. The stem is clean, clearly plucked from the ground with care and arranged neatly on the window sill for you to see. Not a soul can be seen outside, everyone either in the house or in the barn, hard at work keeping this place running. You scratch at the side of your head, mulling it over. Mama likely hasn’t left the house all day. Would Papa leave you a flower if he heard you were “sick” with a headache? Probably not; he never had before. That left only three other options, ones who had been warned against making any advances toward you. But it had to be one of them, didn’t it?

Quickly, you turn away from the window and walk to the kitchen. You didn’t want your thoughts to linger too long, hoping for something that seemed too unlikely to be true. It was a dangerous thing for someone in your situation to do: to hope.

Mama keeps you captive inside for most of the day, showing you how she cooks a roast in the Dutch oven and mends holes in Papa’s shirts. You’re still sewing, fingers full of needle pricks, when the men come in for dinner, their faces tanned and sweaty from a day in the sun. You set down your sampler, flipping it over so no one can see your clumsy stitches, and plate up the food for them. You’re not sure what propels you out of your chair before Mama even asks, but you want it to be you who hands them their hot meals after a long day of work.

Eren nods at you curtly when you hand him his plate, and Connie thanks you about four times, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you didn’t really help much with the cooking.

Jean approaches last, his face unreadable. He didn’t put his vest back on before coming into the house this time, and his white shirt is speckled with dust under his dark brown suspenders. Your eyes linger on the sliver of chest that shows at his open collar before flicking back up to his face. You meet his sharp eyes under the slope of his nose, pointed down to meet your gaze. He nods his head. “Thank you, miss.” There’s a softness in his voice you didn’t hear the day before, a linger in his gaze he didn’t allow himself at last night’s dinner, and it’s enough to get lost in. You nod back in acceptance, holding eye contact until his back turns to you once again.

Eren, Connie, and Jean take their meals back out to the barn, leaving you and your parents to eat alone in the house. It’s a quiet dinner; Papa seems tired, so it must have been a long day. You excuse yourself to your room after you’re finished, uninterested in stabbing yourself with a needle any longer and feeling exhausted despite your relatively idle day.

The sun is hidden behind the mountain, painting the sky complementary blues and oranges in the dimming light. You dip down to your knees by the window, resting your cheek against the wooden ledge on the inside. Against all odds, violet is still sitting there, undisturbed by the wind except to ruffle its petals lightly. It’s possible, you suppose as you ready yourself for a full night’s sleep, that Eren or Connie put it there. Possible, but not likely. Despite the fact that Jean has only said about six words to you since he got here, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t lose hope just yet.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You make work for yourself early the next morning. After an entire day spent indoors, you’re desperate for fresh air and sun, and if you just so happen to get a little social interaction, well, that won’t hurt you either. You breeze through the main room of the house, pulling your soft straw hat from its hook on the wall and muttering something about feeding the chickens before Mama can stop you.

You strut across the yard to the stable, where you keep the barrel with the chicken feed. You only need to haul a small bag of it over to the chicken coop behind the house. Your family doesn’t farm chickens; you just keep them for the eggs, so feeding them isn’t a big job. It’s just enough for a woman to handle, you think with a sneer as you push open the stable door.

The top half is already unlatched and swung in. This should have been enough to tell you that someone else was inside—and that’s what you were hoping for anyway, wasn’t it?—but you’re still startled when you see Jean standing at Maria’s stall. Her muzzle is in his hands, and he strokes her and speaks so softly, you can’t make out what he’s saying. You’re not sure if it’s just the fact that you’re not alone in the barn or if it’s the tender moment you’ve caught him in, but you can’t help the surprised, “Oh!” that escapes your lips.

Jean looks up, his face dropping in shock. He clears his throat and steps away from Maria, who huffs and shakes her head, instantly missing the attention. You catch the smirk at the corner of your lips, forcing it away before he notices how your stomach flips when you see him. Jean stares back, mouth slightly agape, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot in his black boots.

You shift toward the barrel of feed. “Hello. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” Jean stammers. He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine, I—”

You reach for the feed bag and lift the top of the barrel to fill it with the scoop inside. It’s downright adorable, the way he loses his words in front of you. It’s a bad sign that you like it.

Jean clears his throat again, and you look up. “This your horse?” He points his thumb back over his shoulder to Maria, who shakes out her mane, like she knows she’s being talked about.

You nod. “Yes. How could you tell?”

Jean takes a few steps toward you, and you can see the blush growing across his cheeks. There’s something very innocent and boyish about it, much unlike the mature impressions you’d gotten from him so far, but you find it endearing. “Uh, just that she seems the perfect size for you, I guess.”

You close the feed barrel and lean your elbow on it. The chickens are waiting, and so is Mama, but you want to make this last as long as you possibly can. “I guess so,” you agree. “I’ve had her since I was a little girl.”

Jean shoves his hands in his pockets. “Your pa must have picked her out special for you.”

You shake your head, and Jean raises an eyebrow. You walk toward Maria’s stall, passing your Pa’s two horses on the way. Sina and Rose are turned toward the wall, uninterested in you if you’re not bringing food, but Maria waits patiently at her gate. You reach up to scratch her around the ears the way she likes. “She was a gift from a relative. It took a lot of convincing from Pa to let me keep her.”

“Why’s that?” Jean leans on Rose’s stall door next to you, crossing his arms at the elbows on top of the wood.

You smile in spite of yourself. “Not ladylike to be riding around in the dirt and the dust all day.” You run your hand down the white stripe on Maria’s muzzle.

Jean turns, a puzzled expression on his face. He drapes both elbows over the gate and leans back against it. “So you’re not supposed to ride?”

You shake your head. “No. And I miss it terribly.” It’s a bit of a secret, but you trust Jean to keep this conversation to himself. He nods solemnly.

“Too bad. Nothing beats the feeling.”

“You’re telling me,” you tease before giving Maria’s head a farewell pat. Swinging the feed bag in front of you, a thought occurs to you. “Would you take her out for me once in a while? She hates being cooped up in here all the time.”

Jean nods. “’Course. Must be awful boring being penned up day in and day out.”

“It is, trust me.” You don’t know why, but you smile at that. The corners of Jean’s pretty mouth pull up into a charming grin in return, and you suddenly feel much hotter around your collar. Before your face gets too flushed, you head for the door. “Well, I better get to the chickens. They’ll be wanting their breakfast, and then I need to go help make yours.”

“Need any help?” Jean offers, and your heart soars.

But you shake your head. “No, thank you. It’s about the only thing they’ll let me do around here.” You chuckle at the ridiculousness of it, such a simple task considered the upper limit of farm work you can handle. Jean seems to catch the humor in it, and when he tosses his head back and laughs along, the sound almost musical, you fall for him all over again.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Days pass and turn into weeks, bringing much more of the same along with a few surprises. The cattle breeding is going well, Jean tells you. You’ve declared feeding the chickens your daily chore, happy to wake up early if it means a few minutes to chat with Jean in the stable as the sun rises. He tells you about how Connie is getting better with a rope but got dragged across the dirt by a particularly stubborn heifer. He recaps the shouting match between Papa and Eren, both too bullheaded to step down until they were red in the face. You might give him a detail or two about your lessons with mama, but mostly, you talk about memories from when you were younger—when you could ride Maria for miles exploring the forest and the pastures beyond.

When you can, you sneak out after midday to pick ripe plums from the trees around the pasture, and when he can, Jean comes around to help you, lifting you onto his shoulders so you can reach the higher branches until Papa scolded you for letting your skirts ride up around your knees. He won’t mention the fact that Jean’s hands were wrapped around your legs to hold you steady, but the fury is written on his face. Still, he won’t accuse you, won’t taint your chastity by _giving Jean any ideas._

The days get longer as the year stretches into June, the spectacular sunsets coming later and later in the evening. When you can slip past Mama after dinner, you sit on the wooden porch with Jean, watching the fireflies come out. The crickets chirp and the coyotes howl on the mountain while you sit with your knees hugged to your chest. Jean tells you about his home, where he grew up with Eren and Connie as orphans. You ramble about the times when your cousins have come to visit, though it’s been a few years now since you’ve seen them. You don’t have to say it’s likely the fault of your parents and their troubles. You could talk to him all night, but you settle for until Mama comes out with a lantern and scolds you to get back inside.

And you continue finding violets on your windowsill, but Jean never mentions them, so neither do you.

You know you’re walking down a dangerous path, letting yourself get so close to Jean. Your future is equal parts decided and uncertain: Pa still hopes the summer will end with marriage, but you don’t know yet who will make you a wife. You refuse to talk about it. You know that Jean will be here until at least next winter, but after that, who knows where life will carry him. Without something to tether him to you, you don’t know how much longer this can last.

But you find joy in his laughter, excitement in his ruggedly handsome face, warmth and comfort in his work-worn hands. You couldn’t stay away even if you wanted to.

You wipe your hands on your apron when you finish the after-dinner washing. Mama and Papa are whispering to each other in their bedroom, about what you can only guess, but it gives you the opportunity to step out onto the porch. The air is just starting to cool off from the scorching midday sun, and you dab at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your wrist. If you didn’t have to wear all these petticoats—

Jean calls your name; you know it by the sound. He waves at you from the stable door, beckoning you to come over there. You panic for a moment, worried that maybe something is wrong with Maria, but then you see him smiling. Giddiness bubbles in your throat; you haven’t seen him all day. You grab the fistfuls of your skirts and run over to him, not caring about the dust you kick up with your boots. Eren and Connie are throwing horseshoes, paying you no mind as you practically throw yourself into Jean’s arms.

He catches you with a chuckle, embracing you swiftly before stepping back and looping his thumbs under his suspenders. He wears a mischievous grin as he says, “I have something to show you.” You link your arm in his and he takes you into the stable.

Maria stands in the middle, out of her stall but still. She’s always been well-behaved, but she always listened better to you than anyone else. As Jean approaches her, she shakes her head to get his attention. He pats her muzzle before scampering out the open double barn doors at the back of the stable that face the open pasture. “Stay there,” he tells you when you try to follow. When you raise an eyebrow, he adds, “Trust me,” so you do.

He runs several feet outside the stable, to the edge of the hill that dips down into the green pasture where the cows graze during the day. You can barely make out what he’s doing until he lifts his fingers to his mouth, poking them in the corners of his lips. When he blows, he makes the loudest whistle you’ve ever heard, but that’s not the impressive part; Maria turns almost immediately and runs to him.

She whinnies, obviously taken with him, and you think to yourself that perhaps she favors him as much as you do. Jean strokes her neck before telling her to stay. He returns quickly to your side, and you rush to cover your ears before he whistles again. Maria comes trotting in again, drawn to the sound, but you’re too busy watching Jean’s fingers as they slot into his mouth, so long and nimble that your head is filled with sinful thoughts for their use. It’s not proper to think that way, to imagine him touching you and holding you and kissing you, but when have you ever given heed to what’s proper? As long as you keep the thoughts inside your head, despite how easy it would be to pull him into one of the empty stalls and run your hands up his chest, you have nothing to worry about. But oh, how you wish it weren’t all just in your head.

Jean puts Maria back in her stall while you linger, waiting for him as he closes up the barn doors and latches the stable door shut. You nudge his arm with yours as he walks you back to the house. “I can’t believe you trained her to do that.”

He shrugs. “Guess I’m just that good.”

You laugh, finding him charming even when he’s acting smug. “A regular horse whisperer.”

He wraps a hand around his jaw. “It’s this long, ugly face of mine. They think I’m one of them. Makes ‘em trust me.”

“You are NOT—”

You’re cut off by Papa calling for you from the front porch, and your face drops. The air between you and Jean suddenly chills, and you’re acutely away of just how close to him you were walking. Two figures sit on horseback near the corral; not Eren and Connie, but two men about the same age. Papa’s face is stern yet somehow blank at the same time, the color rushed out of it like he’d seen a ghost. “Come on inside the house, right now.”

You glance at Jean, who stands tall but rigid next to you. You give him a short nod before joining Pa on the porch. He sweeps you inside before you can glance back to Jean again, and you think, this is it. You’ve pushed your luck too far, and he’s going to forbid you from speaking to Jean again. Or worse, he’s going to tell Jean to leave, to go back where he came from, and he’s going to hire one or both of those men outside in his place. You should have been more careful, more subtle in your attempts to get close to him—

An approving hum from beside the hearth snaps you to attention. A fire flickers on the stones, lighting the dark main room, and an unfamiliar man stands with his elbow on top of the fireplace. You study him with dread in the pit of your stomach as he studies you. He has slick blonde hair and wears a black pinstriped suit as well as a perfectly round pair of spectacles. He smokes a cigarette, even though Mama doesn’t let anybody smoke inside the house, which he puts out on the stones of the hearth before crossing the room.

“You were right, my friend,” the man drawls. “She sure is pretty.”

You cling to Pa’s arm, cringing at the way the stranger circled the two of you like a buzzard, ready to pick the meat from your bones. And you had a horrible feeling that you might know why.

Pa guides you to a chair at the table and sits you down without introducing you. He and the stranger take the other two chairs and begin to speak like you aren’t even there. You don’t know where Mama is. The stranger pulls a book and a little pencil from a pocket inside his jacket. “Looks to me like you’re two hundred short. What are we going to do about that?”

“I didn’t know you’d come to collect so soon, Zeke.” When Pa’s voice shakes, your blood runs cold. You’ve never seen him like this: afraid.

The stranger, Zeke, chuckles. “Well, well, well. I didn’t realize you needed a handy little schedule to give me my money. I thought you’d want to pay off your debts sooner rather than later. Silly me.” Zeke unbuttons his overcoat and tosses one lapel to the side, showing off a shiny, silver revolver in a holster at his hip.

Suddenly smaller and defensive, Pa answers. “We’re still right at the beginning of cattle season. I just need a little more time.”

Zeke leans forward over the table. “Time? Where was that time when you were betting more than you had in your pockets on that game of poker, hm? Wasting _my_ time, more like.”

“Please, there must be some way we can settle this.” Pa’s hand slides over the table to cover yours.

Zeke sits back and crosses his arms, rolling his eyes over to you, gaze appraising over this pointed nose. “So you want to strike a bargain?”

“Yes.” Pa pats the top of your hand with his while Zeke considers, bringing a hand up pensively to his bearded chin. Your breath catches in your throat as you understand: you’re the bargaining chip.

Zeke crosses one leg over the other and sighs. “I suppose I can make you an offer, all the cards on the table, so to speak.” He folds his hands together and places them in front of you, smirking. “If you can’t settle up by, oh, let’s say–since you’re such a stickler for schedules—the end of the summer, then I’ll forgive your debts in exchange for her hand in marriage.”

“Well…I…” Papa slowly removes his hand from yours, withdrawing in, what, shame? Cowardice?

Zeke’s hand replaces it. You want to pull away, but you don’t, remembering the gun on his hip. “Of course, you don’t have to accept. But it would be a shame if you still can’t settle up. Accidents are liable to happen.” He pats your hand twice before standing, rebuttoning his jacket, and strolling out of the house, letting the door slam behind him.

So this is to be your fate, to become some rich man’s wife in order to save your family from whatever Zeke is threatening. It would sound noble, you suppose, even self-sacrificing to do this for the people you love, if it were any fault of your own that you were in this situation in the first place. But Pa compounded back luck with crossing the wrong man, and now that he couldn’t pay the price, you would have to. You can tell by the way he speaks, the arrogant air with which he carries himself, that Zeke is a powerful man, one maybe some women would _want_ to be married to, if he wasn’t so dirty and manipulative.

Pa knows what you’re thinking. “Darlin’, you know he _would_ make a respectable husband—”

Before he can say anything else, you flee to your room and close the door. You’re angry and frightened and a thousand more things all at once, the emotions so overwhelming that you can only process by burying your face in your bed and crying until the sun has set and your eyes are ringed in red. You hear Ma and Pa muttering to each other, but neither comes to check on you.

When the house falls silent, you lie awake listening to the wind rattling the window shutters and the crickets chirping their nightly laments. Your body feels full of fire, like every word you’ve ever swallowed instead of spoken is being ignited. Your arms twitch; your legs are restless. You can’t lie down any longer, wrestling with the things you can’t change. Now that Ma and Pa are in bed, you have to get out of here.

You dress in a rush and slip out the door in a hurry, latching the door so it doesn’t swing in the wind. You practically stomp to the stable, but you soften when you see Maria, awake and fidgeting with happiness as you get her ready to ride. Once you’re saddled up, you tear out the barn door, hitting full gallop before you’re even off the property.

With the cool night breeze in your air and Maria bouncing underneath you, you start to feel like you’re coming back into your body instead of swimming inside your mind in some faraway place. You’re here, you’re alive, and you’re in control as you steer her to the edge of the sparse forest beyond the pasture. You ride along the tree line, using it as your guide while pushing all thoughts of men and marriage out of your mind until the sound of hooves behind you makes you gasp and jolt.

You tug on Maria’s reins, making a sharp turn away from the trees to circle around. The waning moon is bright enough that you didn’t need to bring a lantern to ride out in the open, but the tall figure on the dark horse trotting up to you holds one high above his head. “Jean!” you scold. “What are you doing? You scared me half to death!”

Jean brings Buchwald, his horse, to a stop right next to your, holding the lantern in front of his glaring face. “What—what am _I_ doing? What the hell are _you_ doing out here?”

Something in your gut twists at his scolding, maybe guilt or maybe fury or some combination of the two. But you’re not in the mood to be told what to do, not tonight, after everything. “I hardly think it’s any of your business what I’m doing,” you can’t stop yourself from spitting back, matching his tone.

“None of my—? Of course it’s my business when I see you—” He starts sentences he never finishes.

You pull on Maria’s reins. “You’re not my Pa,” you snap at him before turning her around, ready to be on your way. Before you can, Jean swings around in front of you, blocking your way. His horse is much taller than yours, fitting to his own size, and when he’s seated on top of it, he towers over you.

His face has softened, eyes still burning but his mouth set in a gentler line. “I know I’m not. But I thought I was… something.”

Air expels from your lungs. Your fists unclench around the reins as you stare back at him. You worry your lip between your teeth, recognizing the concern masked behind his anger, the unspoken affection in his words. It’s almost too much to bear, the weight of what’s left unsaid, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud, too afraid of what might happen if you admit that he’s not just something to you. He’s everything.

Instead, you ask, “So you followed me?”

Jean rolls his eyes. “When I saw you ride off in the middle of the night by yourself? I had to.” He breathes your name like an oath. “I know you’re a strong woman, but hell, Zeke and his boys could still be out here, and you don’t know what they’d do if they got their hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “You know that man?”

Jean lowers this lantern while guiding his horse around, pointing the both of you back toward the house. You notice the double-barreled shotgun strapped across his back. Your horses walk slowly, side by side as he speaks in low tones. “Anyone who spends much time in town does, so it figures you wouldn’t. I’ve sat next to him in the saloon dozens of times, watching him throw back whiskey after whiskey before starting up one of his poker games.”

“You gamble?” You try to keep your voice from shaking. You know Jean’s not like your father, but you hope he proves you right.

“No. But I drink, so I tend to see a lot of it even if they’re not dealing me in.” He looks away from you, falling silent.

“You drink a lot?”

After a pause, he admits. “I drink enough. Do you?”

“Not much,” you tell him. “Except at a barn raising last year, when Mama and Papa weren’t looking.”

He smiles, but only slightly. “I bet that was a sight.”

You change the subject. “Do you really think Zeke would…”

“If he’s got a score with your daddy? Yes. And those Galliard brothers are no different. They do whatever Zeke says because he pays their bail when they get caught. I just couldn’t stand the thought of—” When he cuts himself off again, you pull Maria to a dead stop. “What’s wrong?” Jean asks, jerking his reins.

“Papa wants me to marry him.”

“What?” Jean growls. He points his gaze up toward your papa’s house on the hill. “But when your Pa said you were already spoken for…”

“He meant this. To forgive the debt he owes.”

“That… why, he can’t…” Jean grits his teeth and sighs before he starts moving again, and you guide Maria to follow.

As you crest the hill and approach the house, he mumbles, “But there’s nothing you can do, is there?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I could try to refuse, but…”

Jean dismounts and holds out his hand to help you down too. You take it gratefully, but once your feet touch the ground, he doesn’t let go. You look up at him, unsure of what to say, until he breaks the silence. “You deserve better.” He expects nothing in return as he pulls your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

You press your lips together and nod, willing away tears that build behind your eyes. “So do you.”

He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb before leaning down to kiss the top of your head. His lips rest against your hair as you wrap your arms around his waist, embracing him fully for the first time. It feels wrong but right, brand new yet somehow warm and familiar, until he pulls away.

Jean takes Maria’s reins as well as Buchwald’s. “Go on inside,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of both of them.”

You hesitate, wanting more but fearing it at the same time. Not tonight, you think. Not like this, when you’re weary and broken from the events of the day. It takes every bit of strength you have left, but you turn away from him and creep back inside the house.

No one makes a sound when the door creaks on the way in. No one stirs at the tapping of the heels of your boots against the floor, as you don’t bother to unlace them. You shut your bedroom door louder than usual and wonder why you bother sneaking around at all if no one is even going to notice when you’re gone.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Morning comes. You wake with the pastel sunrise, or maybe you never slept at all. The world is a blur as you roll over onto your side and blink away the drowsiness that hangs heavy from your limbs. After rubbing your eyes and kicking off your blanket, you drag yourself to the window. You don’t expect it, not after the way last night ended, but sitting there is another delicate violet, plucked and placed on the outside sill for you to find.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you push the window open. This is Jean’s way of sending a message, you’re sure of it—a small gesture that holds a promise too big to say in front of anyone else. Taking the flower by its tiny stem, you place it on your little dressing table as you twist your hair quickly into a messy braid. You put on your favorite dress and apron before tucking the violet behind your ear, threading the stem through your hair to keep it in place where he’ll see it. You’re going to make sure he sees it. You’re going to find out once and for all if these little gifts are his doing.

Mama already has salt pork and eggs started in the kitchen as you step out. You help her prepare the rest of breakfast in silence, your heart pounding. The men will come in for their morning meal any minute. You touch the violet in your hair, making sure it hasn’t fallen, and the wooden door creaks open. Jean, Connie, and Eren. As usual, they go straight for the coffee boiling over the fire, Eren and Connie clambering over each other like children.

Jean trails a step behind them, avoiding the scuffle, his eyes rolling over to you as you plate the eggs. You watch him as you fiddle with a tendril of hair by your ear, drawing his eye to the flower nestled there. He swallows thickly, but without a word, he lifts a hand to pat the breast pocket on his vest. Heat rises to your neck and ears when you see it: a nearly identical flower is tucked in the little pocket. He stands tall, displaying the secret vow proudly to you and you alone.

Your insides flutter as he gets his coffee and breakfast, taking it back outside with the other boys. You hardly touch your own breakfast, too nervous to eat and wishing that time would move faster. Your fingers itch to touch him, your legs yearn to run to him, your mouth craves the feeling of his own to swallow up. The urges are all-consuming, maybe enough to drive you crazy if you don’t do something about them right now.

You force down a few bites of breakfast even though your stomach is tied in knots, and you grab your hat on the way out the door, shouting something to Mama about feeding the chickens and not waiting to hear what she says in return. You fly toward the stable, light as air on your feet. You find Jean waiting, idly kicking the dirt with the pointed toe of his black boot as he watched.

He lifts his chin when you slam the stable door behind you, longing in his eyes when they lock on yours. It’s not an exaggeration to say you throw yourself into his open arms. He pulls you in tight against his chest, one arm around your shoulders and the other cradling the back of your head. You press your face against his chest, breathing in the dewy, natural scent of him.

His lips find your ear. “Did you know all along? That it was me?”

You clench the fabric of his loose, gray shirt in your hands. “No. Not at first.”

He strokes your hair before pulling back to look at you, the sweetest, shyest of smiles on his lips. An almost boyish blush glows across his nose and cheeks. “Well, now you know.” His hands move slowly to meet at the sides of your neck, tilting your face upwards toward his own. You cover them with your own, fingers slotting into the spaces between his.

“Now I know,” you repeat as your lashes flutter closed, your neck yearning upward, closer to his mouth. Jean chuckles, his hands trembling under yours, as he leans down and kisses you full on the mouth, soft and slow.

You tilt your head to the side, lips moving languidly against his as you deepen the kiss. The shared breath between your mouths is hot, and he tastes like bitter coffee and sweet tobacco. Jean’s hands slide up to cup your cheeks, holding you in place as the tip of his tongue toys at your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You slide your hands down his impossibly long torso, stopping at his waist to press him harder against you as you open your jaw for him, meeting his tongue sloppily in the middle.

When you wobble on your tiptoes, Jean hums and gathers you in his arms, reaching low around your back as you loop your arms up and around his neck and shoulders. He lifts you off the ground, stumbling backwards only a bit but never breaking the heated kiss between you. He sighs into your mouth and you swear you can taste him in your throat, feel him under your skin, see him behind your eyelids even with your eyes closed.

He drops you back to your feet when the barn door slides open behind him. You untangle your tongue from his, a wet trail of saliva connecting your mouths before Jean wipes it away with the back of his hand. You hear voices, Eren’s and Connie’s, as they barge into the stable, completely unaware of what you were doing moments ago. Goosebumps rise at the back of your neck at the fear of being caught, but Jean’s broad build shields you from Eren and Connie’s prying eyes until you can turn and make for the chicken feed with your secret.

Jean helps the others feed and water the horses while you fill your feed bag, but when you glance back at him before leaving the stable, he’s still smiling at you, dazed and breathless. It’s enough to make you feel dizzy for the rest of the morning.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Stolen kisses become a way of life. You start your mornings as early as you can, sometimes before the sunrise even as the summer days get longer. Rarely are there more than a few minutes where you can get Jean alone, but you take them where you can: out in the stable, back behind the house, and if you’re lucky, against one of the plum trees, his body covering yours as the bark nips into your back. You become incredibly familiar with the fleeting taste of him, the prickly stubble on his chin teasing at your neck, the calloused pads of his fingers running up and down your arms like he can’t get enough of you.

You find delicate purple flowers waiting for you in more places than ever. Not only do they grace your windowsill on the mornings when you don’t wake up before he does, but you find them threaded through the wires of the chicken coop, laid on the toes of your boots when you leave them outside overnight to dry after a summer rain, and sometimes tucked under the ties of your apron if he’s sly enough to sneak one in while he’s covering you with kisses.

Late night rides across the pasture become more rare, something you miss but don’t feel like you need to do in order to clear your head. Still, fears tug at the back of your mind: what happens if you get caught? What will you tell Ma and Pa if Zeke comes to call? But those are questions for the end of the summer, you decide. Questions that you’ll figure out how to answer in time. Now that you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to love Jean Kirstein, there’s no going back. For now, you’re deliriously happy.

As breeding season draws to a close, however, Papa becomes more concerned about the number of calves you’ll have by the spring. The herd has been something of a challenge to handle, and he’s been left with some cattle that are uncooperative, and therefore, unbred. Rather than continue to struggle, Pa decides to cut his losses and sell the remainder of the herd for meat at auction.

It’s settled, and you couldn’t be more thrilled. Mama and Papa load up their small wagon for a few days’ trip to town for the auction, while Eren and Connie drive the cattle alongside them. Jean, the most, or possibly only, trustworthy of the three, is to stay behind and watch the remaining herd as well as the house and the rest of the ranch while they’re gone. That includes you, since there just won’t be space for you at the inn, and Pa can’t afford to lose anything he earns renting a second room (Eren and Connie will sleep on their bedrolls in the wagon). You kiss Pa on the cheek for the first time in weeks before the horses pull the wagon away.

You stand on the porch with Jean until the wagon and the cattle disappear from sight, and for the first time, you’re alone with him—completely alone. The tension is palpable, the air sweet with possibilities, excitement brewing inside you. You stare after them for minutes, making sure they’re actually gone, while Jean snakes his arm behind you, his large hand coming to rest at your waist.

Boldly, he spins you around to face him, dipping you backwards into a long kiss. It feels strange to have his lips on yours out here in the open, but you welcome him with a hum that turns into a squeal when he lifts your feet off the ground. With his hands tucked under your thighs, your skirts bunched up and tangled between your limbs and his, Jean wraps your legs around his own waist, hoisting you up in the air. You lean down to reach his mouth, peeking at his gleeful face from a whole new angle, before you let your eyes flutter closed, content to let him decide what happens next. He kicks open the door to the house and carries you to your room.

You land softly on your bedspread, the wooden legs of your bed frame creaking as Jean crawls on top of you after kicking off his boots. His pants are dusty but you don’t care about your dress or your sheets as he lowers himself gently onto his side and drapes a long leg over your middle. You giggle and sigh his name as he kisses at your neck, his stubbly chin tickling when he moves to nibble your earlobe. In fact, you can’t stop laughing, hardly able to believe that after the months he’s been here, he’s finally in your bed.

You take his jaw between your hands and pull his lips to yours, kissing him playfully as his fingertips roam over your hips and your belly before he moves to palm your breast. You lick into his mouth with a hum before he does the same, rolling over onto his front and pressing more of his weight into you.

A strange sensation washes over you before you can move any further. You kiss him again, but hesitantly, because you know where this leads. As badly as you want to go there, you’re worried of what he’d think of you if he knew—

It’s then that you hear it, loud and clear: his stomach growling.

Jean breaks the kiss, his face flushing in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says with a tight smile. “Busy day. Guess I forgot to eat.”

You stroke his cheek with your knuckles before kissing the tip of his nose. “Let me cook for you. Please.” As excited as you are to be able to touch him freely, to explore his body and the things it can do to you, you don’t want an empty stomach sullying the moment. Besides, you have at least two days before everyone returns from town. You have plenty of time.

Jean hovers as you fixed beans and cornbread biscuits, remembering that they were some of his favorites even though he didn’t tend to be picky. His chin rested on your shoulder as you mixed up a batch of pie dough and folded in sweetened plums in it to fry. He tries to help you, offering to watch something while you start another task, but you shake your head. You’re testing yourself, in a small way, to see if you can do this by yourself, but it’s also your gift to him, a meal cooked solely by your hands for the first time.

There’s something so comfortable about simple spending time alone with one another, smiling at each other over the table as you eat. Jean compliments your food excessively, while you try not to let it go to your head. There’s an old saying about winning a man’s heart through his stomach, though you’re fairly certain you already had both before tonight.

Pa left later in the day than he should have, and before you know it, the sun has set. Jean wraps his arms around your waist as you glance out the window, watching the fireflies come out and dot the pasture like little stars with their light. You cup your hands over his, holding you just under your ribcage. It stirs something inside you, this moment of solitude together, but for the first time all evening, as he folds his long body into yours, it’s something uneasy that you feel.

You bite your lip, that restless feeling settling in your gut. You know what you’re both thinking about, what you both want to do back in the bedroom now that you’re warm and fed and in tune with each other. But there’s something you feel like you need to do first, something you’ve been pushing off for weeks but you feel like you can no longer swallow.

You tip your head back against Jean’s shoulder, and he looks down at you, patient as ever. “What is it? Something troubling you?” he asks.

You purse your lips. “Can we get the horses and go on a ride? There’s some place I want to show you.”

Jean smirks. “I suppose I should let you get a good ride in before your folks get home. As long as I can come along, that is.”

You kiss the underside of his scruffy chin. “Of course you can.”

You change quickly into a better set of clothes for riding; it’s a hot night outside, so you opt for a skirt with no petticoat, a light blouse, and your hat. By the time you reach the stable, Jean already has the horses saddled up and ready to go. He has his gun strapped to his back, surely to be cautious when riding at night. He helps you up onto Maria’s back before handing you your lantern, then hops up on Buchwald with his own. “Where to?”

“Just follow me.”

You ride at a quick but comfortable pace, your lantern bouncing in your hand as you hold it up in front of you. The light flickers, and you wonder if from a distance, you look just like two more fireflies, fluttering in the night. You guide Maria along the base of the mountain, far past the edge of the pasture, and out of sight of the house. It’s been years since you’ve ventured this far, but you remember the way, and Maria seems to as well when you reach the easily-overlooked gap in the trees.

“In the forest?” Jean calls from just behind you, sounding apprehensive.

“It’s only a short way in, I promise.” You hope it isn’t further than you remember and you slow Maria to a walk. The trees make it darker, harder to see in front of you, though the growth isn’t terribly dense this close to the edge of the woods. You’re guided by the sound of trickling water before you see the stream, bathed in a hazy, midnight blue light from the break in the trees overhead.

You hop down and tie Maria’s reins to a low tree branch before taking a seat on the rocky bank of the water. Jean does the same, slotting in at your side and wrapping his arms around you, even though it knocks your hat crooked on your head. He’s always touching you, always holding you when he gets the chance, like he’s savoring the moments you have together. You’d do anything to make sure that it can last.

“How’d you know this was here?” he asks you after a while, kicking a pebble into the trickling stream with his toe.

You settle against his chest. “I used to come here by myself a lot, when I wanted to just get away and think for a while.”

Jean hums, resting his cheek against your head. “You’ve been awful lonely for a long while, haven’t you?”

“I suppose so.” You reach for his hand and pull it to your chest, lacing your fingers over his broken knuckles, dried from the sun and the dirty work on the ranch. You play with his hand idly while you try and think of what to say next, but he beats you to it.

“Lonely enough to want to be with someone like me?” The words sound stiff and formal coming from his mouth, almost rehearsed, like he’s been mulling it over for ages.

“What do you mean someone like you?” You bring his hand to your mouth, hiding behind it though you’re facing the same direction he is.

Jean shrugs. “Poor, for one thing. No family, for one thing. And none too good-looking either.”

You turn and capture his face in your hands. He needs to look at you when you say this. “You’re wrong about that. But even if you weren’t so handsome, and I hadn’t been so lonely, I’d be in love with you anyway.”

Jean casts his eyes down. “I can’t offer you much.”

You blink. “I don’t need anything. Nothing but you. And you give me so much already. You make me happy, and keep me safe when I try and do something irrational.”

He smiles a little at that, but it fades quickly. “You asked me once if I drink a lot. The truth is that I used to drink way too much and do things I regret. I used to want to be numb all the time, and whiskey was the easiest way to do it.” He strokes your hand. “But since I came here, and met you, I’ve hardly wanted to. I don’t want to be like that anymore, but I’m scared of slipping back into old habits. And you deserve better than some drunk, penniless man.”

Your lips are on his almost as soon as he finishes the thought. When you pull back, his sad eyes are locked on yours, but you’re ready to make a promise. “We all have regrets. But you don’t have to be numb, not with me. You can be happy and sad and upset and anything else you feel. And I’ll be right here.”

Jean sighs and kisses your hand, but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he doesn’t, he can’t, believe you. But he sits there with you, vulnerabilities thrown wide open for you to see, and you owe him as much, so you keep talking. “I should be honest with you. I…” It’s harder for you to say than you imagined. “I’m not…”

“Not what?” Concern is etched on his face as tears brew in the corners of your eyes.

“A virgin.” There, it’s out. What’s said is said, and how he reacts is up to him. Your chest aches and you brace for the worst, afraid he won’t even want to look at you, but Jean just looks at you quizzically.

“Neither am I.” You tilt your head; it seems he’s not following.

You huff and explain. “Papa always says that men don’t want a woman who isn’t pure. Well, I’ve been ruined for nearly two years now.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Jean slips into that tone he always uses when you bring up issues with Pa. “Hell, so it’s all right for a man to lay with a woman, but not for the woman he lays with? That’s some horse shit.” Jean reaches out to swipe away the stray tears from your cheek with his thumb, and you lean into his touch, heart fluttering.

“You’re not upset?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe I’m a little surprised, but no, I’m not one bit angry.” He hesitates. “Who…?” The question trails off, but you understand.

“We went to a barn raising a few years back. People were drinking and dancing and playing music, real late into the night. There was a boy… we drank together and slipped off together when Ma and Pa were busy.”

“And you—”

“I wanted to,” you admit. “I was being reckless, and I thought I was grown enough. But I never saw him again. And now I’ve been worrying that I’d ruined myself before I even met you.”

Jean clutches you tight against his chest. “You’re not ruined. I don’t care about any of that, as long as you’re all right. I want you, as long as you’ll have me.”

You sniffle and shake your head. “I don’t know how, or what we’ll do, but I’ll tell Pa that I’m not marrying Zeke or anyone else. If you’ll stand by me.”

Jean pulls you into a kiss then, all soft lips and rough hands against your mouth. When he pulls back, he’s wearing a sad grin again. “I will.”

You sit there on the bank of the stream a little while longer, until the horses start getting antsy. They probably don’t like the dark, and if you’re being honest, you’re feeling a little uneasy yourself, not knowing exactly what’s lurking out in these woods. You saddle up again together and ride out of the trees the same way you rode in. Riding side by side, you head back toward the empty house, thinking only of Jean and your empty bed until you reach the pasture and see the great light just over the hill.

Your house smolders in flames. At least half of the thing is engulfed by fire. You jerk back hard on Maria’s reins, pulling her to a dead stop, and you scream. Your first thought is that this is your fault, that you left a fire lit in the kitchen and caught the whole house ablaze, but then you notice the huge plumes of fire billowing from the barn and the stable as well. They’re too far from the house for the flames to have spread on their own.

Two figures appear, black splotches against the orange light from the burning house, lit torches in their hands. You watch in horror as they reach the gate of the corral, lending their flames until the wooden pen is lit too. You scream again.

“Quiet down!” Jean tries to scold you, but it’s no use. Your body moves faster than your mind does. With a sharp kick to her haunches, you launch Maria up the hill, despite Jean’s pleas for you to _wait, come back, run away._

You crest the top of the hill with a ruckus, already feeling the heat pumping from the house. You throw your leg over Maria’s back and slide out of your saddle in one motion, charging toward the men who set the fire. You don’t know what you’re thinking, don’t even know what you’re planning to do. Still, you run toward the nearest one. It’s not until you’re close enough to raise your arm to hit him that you realize you’ve seen this man and his slicked back hair before. Before you can swing, a hand clasps over your from behind, wrenching your arm around behind your back.

You yelp and thrash, but you’re pinned back against the broad, wiry chest of a man. Though you’re kicking against his legs and the ground, you hear him croon in your ear, “Now, now, dear. There’s no need for that.” You’ve only met him once, but you couldn’t forget that voice: Zeke.

You scream and twist, trying to wrench yourself from Zeke’s grasp as the Galliards stand and watch, but he’s stronger than he looks. You don’t stop flailing, eventually bashing Zeke in the chin with your head, hard enough to knock your own hat off. He grunts before pinning both your arms to your sides and turning you to face him, then he nods to the others. “Boys, a little help, please?”

In a moment, there’s a man on either side of you. Even if you were to shake Zeke off, there would be nowhere to run but into the burning house behind you. Catching the recognition in your eyes, Zeke loosens his grip on your arms, but only by a little. Your breathing is quick and shallow, your forehead and the back of your neck sweating as you glance around madly, searching for Jean, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Zeke smirks down at you mercilessly, the reflection of the flames glinting in his spectacles as he registers your panic.

“We weren’t expecting you home so soon, little lady,” he drawls, his voice smooth and dark as molasses. “When we saw your old Pa in town, we figured you were there with him, but what a nice surprise this is.” He licks his lips. “Probably should have thought twice about leaving a pretty girl like you out here all alone.”

Either Zeke doesn’t know Jean is here, or he’s seen him and he’s bluffing. Either way, you can’t risk calling for help. You’ll only get Jean shot. Instead, you rear back and spit at Zeke’s face, hitting him in the cheek.

He chuckles darkly and wipes it off on his shoulder. “Didn’t know you were so feisty. I could have sworn my future bride was the sweet, quiet type who knows her place.” He speaks while baring his teeth, pointed canines shining in the firelight.

“I’d never—”

Zeke slaps you across the face. You gasp at the pain, your eyes watering instantly while Zeke raises his voice. “You’ll do well to keep your mouth shut.” He drags you closer to him, so close you can feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “You know why we’re here? Because I saw your Pa in town, betting the money he owes me on more card games. So I figured it was time to send a little message, but maybe the house isn’t enough. Maybe I’ll just hold you for ransom until I get what I’m owed and more.”

Zeke jerks you against him before placing both hands at your throat, forcing your face up to look at him. “And until then, you can be my personal little whore. It’s all you’re worth anyway.” He snorts. “At least you’re a pretty one.”

His fingers slide down and suddenly tear at the collar of your shirt, ripping the fabric open down the front. Your sleeves fall off your shoulders, completely ripped open. You scream again as he steels one hand around your neck and the other gropes your breast while he sucks in a breath of pleasure. His grip around your neck is almost suffocating as he jerks your head up and tries to kiss you. His lips touch yours as you shriek for him to get away, kicking at his shins as your breaths get shallower. You gasp for air, tears streaking your face, before a shrill whistle pierces from behind you.

Maria, who has been pacing by the corral, takes off, barreling straight toward you. She’s clearly confused, spooked by the fire and the noise of the familiar whistle. Zeke hears her coming, and just before she nearly collides with both of you, he pushes you off of him and stumbles backward, out of her path and onto the ground. Your back hits the dirt as well, but as you scramble up to your knees, you hear Zeke huff as Jean pins him down, boot to his chest and shotgun to his chin.

Zeke calls for the Galliards, but Jean shuts him up by jabbing the double barrel upwards. He’s breathing hard but doesn’t look away from Zeke when you scream his name. In spite of himself, Zeke laughs. “So, they left the farm boy here to look after you, did they?” He speaks to you while looking up at Jean, who presses the barrel harder against Zeke’s Adam’s apple.

“Shut up,” he spits, teeth grit and jaw set tight.

Zeke wraps a hand around the side by side barrels. “You gonna kill me? Then what? This ain’t even your fight. You willing to go down fighting for her, son?” When he reaches under the lapel of his jacket, you scream.

_“Jean, his revolver!”_

Jean pulls his gun up to his shoulder and aims at Zeke’s throat. “Go to Hell,” he growls. Then he unloads both shots into Zeke’s neck. You scream and look away, relieved and horrified as Zeke’s blood pools underneath him.

The Galliards come running and yelling. Jean presses the lever to open the gun, dumping two shells out on the ground before smoothly reloading two more bullets he pulls from his vest pocket. With a jerk of his arm, he latches the barrel shut again before raising the gun to his shoulder again. He kicks Zeke’s body before taking aim at them, daring them to come closer.

The two brothers stop dead in their tracks, hands raised. The darker-haired one glances between you and Jean, clearly unsure of what to do. The lighter-haired one stares at Zeke’s unmoving body on the ground. Everything is still, the house crackling and crumbling as it burns, until the dark-haired boy reaches for the holster at his hip.

Jean steadies himself and pulls the trigger, once, then again. One by one, the Galliard’s groan and fall to the ground.

You brace yourself against the dusty ground with both hands, gasping and heaving. The world seems to shift underneath you, everything blurred by the tears in your eyes. You feel a grip on your arm, a hand pulling you upward onto your feet, a shoulder and arm supporting your weight.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. We have to go. I’m sorry.” Jean repeats over and over before he whistles again for Maria, who comes running along with Buchwald. You force air into your lungs as he pushes you up into your saddle. Your torn shirt is still falling off your shoulders, the top of your delicate white shift on display, but you hardly give it a second thought. You sit there dumbly, trying to process, as Jean reloads his gun again and grabs a lantern. By the time he’s mounted and next to you, your head has stopped swimming just enough to follow his lead.

“We need to put some distance behind us. We can’t put out the fire, and we don’t know if Zeke has more men around.” He explains blankly before you break into a gallop. “We’ll head toward town until we find somewhere safe to rest. All right?”

You nod. “Yeah, ok.” You follow Jean’s lead, trusting him completely, even in your state of shock.

Riding helps clear your head. The rhythmic bouncing of Maria’s gait brings you back into your body and mind as you cross the plains, even as you grow weary. Jean checks on you every so often, and you reassure him that you’re fine–as fine as you can be after what you’ve been through. It dawns on you that Zeke is gone for good, and even under the circumstances, it registers as a relief.

You don’t know how long you ride across empty plains and alongside fields of wheat. Eventually, when Jean asks how you’re doing, you admit you’re tired. He starts watching the horizon, scanning left and right, and after another brutal stretch of riding, he finally points out a structure just off in the distance. You ride toward it to find an abandoned stable, likely once belonging to the farmer who owned this land but left or was run out for one reason or another.

“It’s been a few hours, at least. Nobody will find us here,” Jean reassures you before pushing over the rotting wooden barn door. Despite the decrepit outside of the stable, the inside is fairly clean. There’s even hay in the stalls that smells somewhat fresh, so at least you won’t be sleeping directly on a dirt floor. Not that you can be picky.

With Maria and Buchwald stowed in separate stalls, Jean finds a bucket and a water pump. He fills the bucket for you to drink from before washing his hands under the spigot; you realize he still had splattered blood on them. There’s blood dotting the hems of his pants too, but there’s nothing much to be done about that right now.

He knows you’re watching him wash Zeke’s blood from his hands while you rest on a bale of hay against the wall. Even after he dries his hands, he’s careful not to touch you with them, opting instead to kneel in front of you and place his weary head in your lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice.”

You lean forward to kiss his upturned cheek. “I know. Thank you.” He saved your life; he must know that, even if he’s as shaken up as you are. He did what had to be done, and you’d spend the rest of the night, the rest of your life, thanking him.

“I’ll always protect you,” he promises. “Always.”

Gently, you pull him up to his feet and wrap your arms around him, breathing in the mountain air scent of his clothes. He holds you tightly around the shoulders as you press your ear to his chest, listening as his steady heartbeat quickens. You know what you want, and you hope he wants it too. Slow and suggestive, you run your fingers up and down his sides, trailing his long torso with your touch. He melts into you, his touches against your back soft but deliberate before you step back and take him by the hand, leading him toward a bed of straw. He follows.

You sink down and recline against the pile of hay, feeling it tickle at your back as you shrug your shoulders out of your tattered blouse and toss the garment to the side. You reach for the ribbon holding your hair in its braid next, and Jean watches with parted lips as you shake your hair free before dropping to rest in the straw beside you. He moves so his hip touches yours, and one massive hand finds your thigh and rests on top of it, over your skirt.

You want to be closer to him, want to give him every part of you there is to give, so you reach out and take his hand and place it against your chest. “Jean, will you touch me, please?” you ask softly, letting the words roll and curl off your lips in a whisper.

“Yes.” Jean draws a quick intake of breath before leaning in to press his mouth against yours. You let him roll you flat on your back, pulling him down on top of you as you part your lips for him and suck his tongue into your mouth. He hums a low tone of pleasure before moving to straddle your waist, one long leg on either side of you as his chest presses down against yours. Your hips roll of their own accord, seeking friction against his tight body.

It doesn’t feel like it did the last time he hovered over you, sweet and blushing in your bed. Now that bed is burned to ash, and he tastes like fire and sin. Your body craves him, pulsing deep inside and urging you to plunge deeper, grip harder, grind faster against him. You grab handfuls of the back of his shirt, pulling until it comes untucked and you can run your fingertips over the exposed skin of his lower back.

Jean moans into a chuckle before breaking the kiss, sitting back on his shins to gaze down at you. He hung the lantern on a peg high on the wall, and though the flickering light casts shadows across his face, you can clearly see him smiling. “You want me to take you, darlin’? Right here?”

“Yes, please, Jean.” Your chest is hot and heaving with shaky breaths. You can’t wait any longer.

Jean hooks a thumb under each of his suspenders, pulling them down off his broad shoulders and dropping them to his sides. He finishes what you started, grabbing his shirt from the bottom and pulling it up over his head, pushing off his black hat in the process. He lets his clothes fall behind him, forgotten as soon as they’re off his body. You gaze at his bare chest in the lantern light, defined with ridged muscle from the hours of manual labor he undertook every day.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he rumbles, his voice throaty and lowered in pitch, dripping with sex.

You roll your neck and moan. “You, I want you. Inside me, please.”

He smiles like he’s been waiting an eternity to hear those words. On his knees, Jean moves to the side so he can hoist your legs, crossed at the knee, up onto his shoulder. “Soon, darlin’. Gotta get you ready for me first.”

As he pushes your skirt and shift up your legs, revealing your stockings and garters to the moonlight, you don’t care that you’re not his first and that he’s not yours. All you care about is being joined with him, being known inside and out by this man whom you love so deeply. You hum and sigh as rough fingers drag up and down your calves, calluses snagging on the thin fabric of your stockings.

His fingers dip between your thighs, in the fold where your legs are pressed together, and groans when he feels your heat. Balancing your feet between his shoulder and his ear, he unhooks your garters from your stockings and pulls the fabric slowly down to your ankles and off over your toes. He kisses at your bare ankles, readjusting them against his shoulder as your skirts fall around your hips, exposing your bare cunt to him. He groans with his first look at you and reaches down, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his hardened cock with one hand.

He pumps himself as you watch him, his face twisting with pleasure and maybe a hint of disbelief. “You’re so beautiful,” he muses as he strokes himself lazily, and you whine when he guides the wet head of his cock to the divot between the back sides of your legs. You haven’t even seen him yet, but you can feel how big he is as he thrusts between your thighs, can feel every delicious ridge and vein on the underside of his shaft against the soft flesh of your ass as he fucks your legs.

Jean’s eyes roll back in his head and he groans, the friction growing hotter as he grinds on the spot where your thighs meet your ass. “Oh darlin’, my baby, you feel so good.” You whine when he calls you those names, devoted to being whoever he wants you to be. He pants as he swirls his hips in a circle, his balls rubbing against the folds of your cunt from underneath. “Do I feel good for you, baby? Are you getting wet for me?”

You whimper and nod, the pressure in your core building to an almost maddening intensity. “Yes, ready for you,” you plead, hands ripping at the hay beneath you because they can’t reach him.

Jean murmurs as he pulls his cock back from you and drops your legs from his shoulder before kicking his pants off completely. You feel the blood rushing back down to your feet as he leans down to kiss you again, sloppy and desperate to taste you. When you feel his chest and throat rumble against you, some animalistic part of your mind takes over, and suddenly, you need him. You push at his chest with both hands, pushing him over onto his back so you can roll on top. Hiking your skirts up in both arms, you spread your legs across his lap, where his impressive erection stands tall for you.

Teasing his leaking tip through your folds, you swivel your hips, mixing his slick and yours until you’re wet enough to sink down onto his stiff cock. You sob and moan as you take him inside you, your hole stretching to accommodate his massive size. Jean’s hips stutter and jerk until you’re fully seated and writhing on top of him.

Since your arms are full with your skirts, Jean takes the lead and holds you by your hips, bouncing you up and down on his length. He groans with each drag inside you, your pussy clamped down hard around him. His mouth hangs open and so does yours as he bucks up into you while you ride him like an untamed stallion.

You don’t last long before the pressure in your lower belly becomes too much. You sing his name over and over until finally you break, creaming around his cock with a sharp cry that has him stilling inside you. You gasp for breath while Jean grinds his hips with yours, soothing you until you come down from your climax.

He pulls you down and kisses you hard, still stiff and pulsing inside you as he showers you with praise. “You’re so beautiful like this, baby. So good for me.” You moan into his mouth until he rolls you over, shifting your insides so you jolt with a squeal.

His hips begin to roll again, his cock pumping in and out of you at this new angle that makes you feel like you’re going to snap in half. “You ok, darlin’?” he groans as he continues to slide in and out of your little hole.

“Yes, yes, I want more. Please, Jean.” You’re hardly aware of what you’re begging for, but you know he’ll give you what you need.

Pushing your skirt out of the way, Jean lifts your legs again, crawling up to press down the backs of your thighs with his knees. His head and neck are dripping with sweat, his intensity incredibly intoxicating as you let him fold you into the press. Your pussy blossoms for him, opening up so he can push even deeper inside you, making you scream with every thrust.

“You want more? You can have it,” Jean’s eyes roll as he puts a hand to your lower belly, feeling himself bulging inside you. “You want me to fill you up? Put my seed inside you so you can have my pretty babies?”

You throw your head back and moan. “ _Yesssss_. Please.”

Jeans thrusts come harder now, and faster, building toward his inevitable end. “Love you so much, darlin’. Want you to make me a daddy, over and over again. Will you?”

“Yes, yes, daddy,” you cry, and with a few more sharp trusts and a shout, Jean spills inside you, filling you just like he said he would. He thrusts hard and holds himself deep inside you as he spurts rope after rope, his seed leaking out of you before he even pulls out and collapses on top of you.

In a moment, you will get up and clean the mess between your thighs at the water pump. You will curl up in your bed of hay and sleep until morning. But first, you lie cradled in Jean’s arms, drawing wandering lines across his back with your fingers, holding and caressing him after finally claiming him and being claimed by him, your lover and protector.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You wake after sunrise, light filtering in the old broken shutters of the stable where you slept. The last thing you remember is dozing off in Jean’s arms, but when you roll over, he’s no longer beside you in the hay. You sit up abruptly, wondering where he is until you hear the sound of the water pump outside. The barn door is open, and Maria and Buchwald stand outside as Jean pumps water into the bucket for them to drink. Your heartbeat returns to normal as you lie back against the hay, resting for just a moment more before you rise.

When you roll over onto your side, something catches your eye: waiting beside your head on your makeshift bed is a tiny purple bud, a prairie violet that has just opened its petals to the world. You smile and place your hand over the token of Jean’s continued promise to you, sighing as the man himself appears beside you.

Jean sinks to his knees next to you, placing a hand to your head. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you sigh. It’s not how you expected to wake up next to him, but you’d do it all over again if you had to for this very moment.

Jean strokes down your temple and over your cheek with his thumb before kissing your forehead. He notices the violet stem under your hand and smiles softly. “I want you to know I meant what I said last night. If you’ll have me, I want to marry you. Have a family with you.”

You rise up onto your elbows and pull him in by the jaw for a lingering kiss. “I want you too.”

You fall into a slow rhythm of lazy kisses and roaming hands, savoring the moment before finally Jean sits up again, lips pink and swollen from kissing. He sighs, looking out where the horses are tied up outside the stable. “We better head into town. We need to find your Ma and Pa.”

“Right.” You climb to your feet, brushing the straw out of your hair and clothes. What comes next is less pleasant to imagine than marrying the man in front of you.

“You thinking about what you’re going to say to them?” Jean asks you, parsing your thoughts even before you do.

“Yes,” you reply, picking up your blouse from the ground. It’s dirty and torn, but you shouldn’t ride into town in just your shift. Instead, you rip the fabric the rest of the way so you can at least tie the front together again. “But I’m not so worried. It’s time I told them the truth. About everything.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It’s past midday when you reach town. Jean leads you to the only inn, where Ma and Pa must be staying. The main drag is bustling with people, busier than usual with the auction about to start. Most of them are dressed well, in their Sunday best; you in your tied up shirt and Jean with blood still on his pants stick out like sore thumbs.

You bring your horses to the stable behind the inn, where Jean finds Eren and Connie. You hang back, keeping an eye out for your parents while he tells them about Zeke and the fire. You try not to listen, not wanting to relive the memories more times than you have to, but while Jean speaks, the other boys send sympathetic looks your way. But as your stomach twists with nerves, you need Jean’s touch to steady you, so you join them in the stable, wrapping yourself around his side as he drapes his arm around you.

Eren and Connie exchange knowing looks at your display of affection, and you wonder how much they suspected all along while kindly keeping their mouths shut. It dawns on you that after today, you’re not sure when or if you’ll see them again.

“We’re sure sorry about what happened,” Connie says sweetly, his big eyes almost welling up. You let go of Jean to pull him into an embrace, kissing his cheek sweetly before Eren steps in.

“Take care of yourselves, you two. Whatever happens. Call on us if you need help.” He’s so serious, his eyes blazing and his mouth pressed in a hard line. “And tell that Pa of yours to rot in Hell if he gives you grief.” In spite of yourself, you almost laugh as you kiss his cheek as well.

“Speaking of,” Connie says. “They left for the auction just a while ago. You can probably catch up to them before it starts.”

Jean tips his hat. “Thanks, fellas.”

The two of you set off down the side of the dirt road, passing by all the people headed to the auction. You scan over their heads until you recognize Mama’s familiar yellow bonnet. You stir Maria into a gallop, calling for her and Pa to stop.

Startled at your voice, they step out of the road to wait for you. You slide off of Maria’s back before she even stops running and throw yourself into Mama’s arms. The sight of you must be jarring: hair down and hatless, torn, dirty clothes, and Jean following behind you looking not much better. Pa scolds you with your full name while you cling to Ma. “What’s the meaning of this?”

You tried to plan how you were going to break the news to them, tried to think of the best things to say to make this go smoothly, but now that you’re face to face, your heart and your head are telling you wildly different things. It pours out all at once. “Last night, Zeke and his men burnt the house, the barn, everything. I don’t know about the cattle.”

Your parents stand dumbstruck in horror, and you try to give them a moment to let the news sink in: your home is gone, most likely turned to ash where it stood. Mama starts to cry, clutching you in her arms. “Oh sweetheart, thank god you’re all right.” Papa says nothing, just stares.

You will yourself not to cry, wanting to get this across clearly. “Zeke, he tried to take me. He tried to… but Jean saved me.” Jean’s chest puffs only slightly as Pa flashes him a look, but you bring his attention back. “Jean killed him and his men, daddy. They’re dead.”

Pa’s mouth flaps open and closed a few times. Then he reaches out to shake Jean’s hand, who accepts solemnly. “I… well. I’ll certainly do what I can if the law comes after you. I can’t make any promises, but thank you, son.”

“Papa, I love him.” You blurt it out, still wrapped in Ma’s arms, but you feel her tense around you. Pa just chuckles, like you’re just a silly little girl, admitting a crush, and you push away from Mama, boiling over with rage. “I mean it. He was there to protect me while you were here betting on cards, if I’m to believe what I’ve heard.”

Pa’s face turns white as a sheet for a moment before he shakes his head, frowning. “Sweetheart, don’t be ridiculous,” he mumbles, as if Jean isn’t standing right there.

Jean steps in, pushing up the brim of his hat so Pa can see his eyes. “Sir, I’m going to marry your daughter.”

Pa steps up to him. “I sure appreciate what you’ve done, boy, but I can’t allow it.”

You put a hand to each of their chests, stepping between the two men. “Papa, it’s done. I’ve decided.”

Pa sputters. “Of all the ungrateful…You can’t just leave your family for—”

Jean barks back. “It’s her life! And you’ve done nothing but make it hell for her ‘til now.”

You glance at Mama, who’s looking at the ground, hands clasped and refusing to say anything. You should have known that you couldn’t count on her to stand up for you, not against her husband, no matter how wrong and pigheaded he was.

You jab a finger at Pa’s chest. “I’m tired of being the solution to your problems. And I’m tired of being told what to do.” His face flushes red with anger, but you don’t back down. “You don’t own me anymore.”

You push away from him then, turning your back as Jean’s arm wraps around your shoulder. Pa yells after you, begging you to change your mind, calling you ungrateful, wicked, ruined—all the things that you knew you weren’t because of the man who holds you close to him. You return to your horses, who are waiting patiently for you, side by side. In plain view of your parents, Jean takes your chin in his hands and kisses you deeply. You close your eyes and lean into him, covering his hands with your own as he holds your face delicately.

You don’t know what you’ll do next, or where you’ll go. You don’t know what your life, once planned out and predestined for you, will look like moving forward. But you do know, as you mount your horses and ride back toward town, that you Jean will figure it out together.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•


End file.
